Alternate Angles Are
by Pick-A-Wallflower
Summary: You promised you would be right back, Sara Sidle.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: C.S.I. and it's brilliant characters are not mine.

A/N:  
a) I put my other story on hold because it's pretty icky.  
b) So I tried suspense. I hope you enjoy.  
c) This story will be shown from a different point of view each chapter.  
d) I update sporadically. Sorry.  
e) I appreciate reviews. They make me feel giddy. Even the bad ones.  
f) Expect no less than 8 chapters.

* * *

**_Alternate Angles Are_**

**Chapter One: Parallels With Coffee**

"Stokes."

Nick nonchalantly picked up the phone and held it firmly between his ear and shoulder. He was in the middle of making his last coffee, the one he took with him on the way home every night. He pulled a double shift, unraveling the culprit behind Las Vegas's latest slaying. It was a ten-year-old boy. His name was Jason. He liked to play softball. He hated peas. He killed his best friend.

Nick never understood these cases. These cases were the ones that kept him up at night. Of course Jason didn't really mean to kill his best friend. Death doesn't even seem to strike a chord with some kids. They seem to think that dead people will live again, just like that. Just like in the video games. But they don't. And now, Jason still doesn't understand. But that's okay. He just threw away his entire life. He can think about that while he's in juvi for the next eight years. And he just might have to think about it some more for the rest of his life.

"Stokes." Nick repeated.

There was static, a lot of it, but he could barely make out some of the background noises. Whoever was calling him was in a car. He accidentally spilt some of his sugar on the counter. _Shit_. He grabbed a napkin and wiped it off with a quick _swish_.

Abruptly, the static disappeared, and he heard a few car doors slam. A timid voice asked barely above a whisper, "Nick?"

"Sara? Is that you Sara?"

Nick checked his watch: 9:17 AM. Sara had left about fifteen minutes ago with her trademark _thinking _frown, or that Grissom face, whatever you want to call it. She was trapped inside her mind, inside the case she was working on that night. She's always staying late to finish a last minute this, or last minute that. Nick thought that she just wanted to prolong the inevitable. She didn't want to go home. He knew she had no one to go home to. He dealt with the same problem every day. But Sara, she had no one to call, no family to visit, and the only thing on her mind all day was work.

"Nick, you have to help me."

Her voice was wavering but she tried to stick to that professional tone she held up at work. She was distressed but she tried to cover it up. Her voice, still barely above a whisper, discharged a wave of urgency that you rarely heard in Sara's voice. That lilt she had when she spoke, the calm one she used when she explained something to Greg, the impatient one she used when she addressed Grissom, the unyielding _Wrath Of Sara Sidle_ voice she used in the Interrogation room when she knew something didn't add up; all of that ebbed away with each syllable.

"Sara, what's going on?"

His hand was in mid-pose, holding the sugar packet upside down over his coffee. Sara never asked for help. She just kept on falling and falling and falling. She falls at full speed, she falls with gravity, and she falls with determination.

"I don't know. I don't know, Nick! I don't know where I am, I'm in my car."

Her voice was beginning to bare signs of hysteria. Nick imagined her sitting in the front seat with her head buried in her hands. Strands of her bronzed brown hair would drop limply, covering her face. His heart fractured into a billion pieces and dissolved in his brain. Nick's sugar vanished into his coffee.

"Why are you whispering?"

He tossed the now purposeless sugar packet into the trash. Nick fumbled his coat pockets for his car keys, preparing to drive an intoxicated Sara back home to her small but well-furnished apartment. It happened before, five or six months ago. And then it happened again three months ago, except that time she was driving under the influence. The first time it happened she had called him, he had driven her home, she had thanked him, he had sat in his car staring at her window until the lights dimmed, and then he drove home. The unwritten rule was to never bring it up. He was concerned for her welfare. He would lose sleep worrying about her. She thought she had no one, but she could have everyone if she wanted.

"They're coming back, Nick. Oh my god, Nick. They're coming back."

This time she had one too many. How much did she have to drink? She's having delusions. Sara Sidle is seeing things.

"Sara?"

Nick spoke softly, stirring in the cream with a red stirrer. He expertly withdrew the stirrer and tapped on the rim of the cup.

"Nick! I'm in an alley. Off of The Strip."

He could hear the stifled sobs fighting to extend beyond her lips. Nick visualized her again, now this time her free hand was clenched in a fist, pounding on the perimeter of the steering wheel. Her eyes would blink back tears that were struggling to be released and she'd bite the inside of her cheeks to keep from exploding. She was his pseudo-sister. He would die to protect her, his heartstrings tugged every time she got in trouble.

"Sara, get out of the car."

Nick grabbed his coffee and headed out towards his Denali. As he arrived at the doors he turned around and proceeded back towards the break room. He opened the too small fridge and grabbed a bottle of water. His neck was beginning to cramp, holding the phone in that way. Where was his headset?

"I can't. I'm in the trunk."

Both the coffee and the water slipped simultaneously onto the floor. The creamy coffee he spent ten minutes perfecting splayed into intricately patterned droplets on the blue hallway floor.

"What?"

People were beginning to stare. Nick stalked off back into the break room again, only this time Warrick had occupied himself by doctoring a cup of coffee on the couch. He eyed Nick uneasily and sneaked a glance at the mess in the hallway. One look and he rolled his eyes. Warrick gently placed his coffee back onto the table and stood up to grab the paper towels. As Warrick headed towards the door, Nick blocked his path.

"Sara? Have you been kidnapped?"

The roll of paper towels spun idly into the spilt coffee. It absorbed the globs of coffee instantly, as it was supposed to.

* * *

A/N:  
a) Booyah baby, that's chapter one.  
b) Review, please.  
c) Next Chapter posting within 2 weeks.  
d) Sorry folks, I've got exams this week. And a mock trial. Oh joy.

Much Love,  
Veronica T.


	2. Strictly Business

A/N:  
a) So I deleted my other story. It sucked.  
b) Oodles of thank-yous to those who read and reviewed.  
c) I updated! I updated!  
d) This chapter, well, it skips around from person to person but I _intended it_ to be in Grissom's point of view.  
e) Wow, don't any of you guys feel conflicted whether to call Grissom Gil, or Grissom.  
f) Yeah, I'm just weird.

* * *

_Alternate Angles Are_  
Chapter 2: Strictly Business 

For the first time ever, Gil Grissom was leaving his office on time. And, for the first time ever, he was grateful to leave behind the mess of a lab that's been utter chaos since Ecklie had been appointed supervisor. There was only one slight problem: Catherine. Catherine and her problems. As for now, he already ruined his own day by snapping at Sara and then feeling guilty about it…he also forgot to turn in some paperwork regarding a request for some new lab equipment that Mia's been pining for, and oh! He also forgot to eat in the last, say 12 hours. No, Gil Grissom was yearning to walk out of those doors and hop into his car and drive on to his somewhat quirky little townhouse. But he can't. No. He can't. _What on earth does Catherine want now?_

"Are you listening to anything I'm saying, Gil!"

_No._ Grissom sighed wearily and furrowed his eyebrows. This was a sure sign that his patience was wearing thin.

"Yes."

"Good, so are you going to keep me posted on the Lauren Steven's case? Because I've been trying to get Sara to tell me about it, I mean, come on! It was my case to begin with! I left three messages on her cell. This isn't the first time she hasn't updated me on _my _cases. Gil, do something about it! You don't do anything about it!"

"Catherine, all I'm saying is that you shouldn't be harassing my criminalists because your cases are being handed over to _my_ shift!" Grissom spat angrily.

Oh, he could feel a monster of a migraine coming along. _Where were his meds?_

With case files in one had and an empty LVPD mug in the other, Dr. Gil Grissom strode down the Labitrail behind Catherine Willows. He just didn't understand their relationship anymore. Catherine was the closest thing he ever had to a best friend in Vegas, hell, anywhere. She always put her foot down when he became hesitant and she yanked his head out of the microscope every time he needed it. Yet, ever since the shift split and the Sara/Ecklie/Catherine blowout, they didn't speak to each other, only on a professional basis. Obviously, she should have remained furious at him for siding with Sidle for unexplained reasons. Of course, she had the right to remain furious at Sara, especially after the insults Sara spewed at the woman, but still, what did aggravating Sara about this case do anything for Catherine? Their usual amiable bickering flew out that window, along with their mutual respect and everything else they used to share. _What happened?_

"She took my case, Grissom! She wouldn't even tell me how far she's progressed on it. She brushed me off and left without a word, or-or anything…Gil!"

Catherine's natural blonde hair flipped in a mad rage as she turned around to retort. She had her hands stuffed in her lab coat and her usual piercing blue eyes looked faded and downcast, like the day's weather. Like Grissom's mood. All at once, Grissom saw Catherine Willows. He really saw her: her hair, her eyes, her height, her expression, and her age. She was burned out from her job and her losses. Grissom pursed his lips and surveyed the specimen before him from toe to head, in the methodical way he did. He was digging for a sliver of that bond they used to have. But it was gone.

"I'll keep you posted as soon as I hear something from Sara. I sent her home, she's had a long day."

The fluorescent lights of the lab highlighted the hallway floor's coffee spillage as Grissom and Catherine's argument came to a grinding halt before they parted their ways. Grissom would proceed into the break room to get some water while Catherine would fly into the locker room, to change, go home, and sleep, since she pulled a double today. Yesterday. It didn't matter, the days have started rolling into one colossal jumble of madness.

"Sara!"

Nick yelled into his cell phone but when no one answered he threw it against the wall. Warrick looked too stunned to move or clean the mess as the pair of shift supervisors stepped delicately around the mess and into the break room. Nick knocked over the trashcan and stalked to couch.

"Nick, what's wrong with Sara."  
Grissom was the first to speak up as soon as he broke from his reverie.

He didn't know what's been going on with her lately. She's been making mistakes, little and minor mistakes, but mistakes, all the same. Sara's dropped blood evidence, and she even forgot to date her paperwork. And today, she forgot to label the swab she was going to take to Mia, and that's why he had snapped at her. Naturally, he felt guilty, but he needed at least one competent and experienced C.S.I. on his shift. Sophia, well, Sophia was Sophia and Greg was no expert. Sara was all he had left of his original night shift, and he didn't want to lose her because of some laughable paperwork mistake. That's a lie. He didn't want to lose her, ever lose her. She was a competent and experienced C.S.I. but she was also much more than that.

Nick was slightly shaky now but he managed to control himself long enough to sputter out a brief explanation to what had happened without panicking.

"I was making my coffee, and I got a phone call. It was Sara but there was a lot of static so I had some difficulty understanding what she was saying. She was rambling, and I thought she was drunk…I thought she needed a ride home. Sara, oh, she was whispering and she was so afraid…"

Gil dwelled momentarily on the DUI incident last year. She was no alcoholic but she did these crazy things sometimes that instigated alarm bells and sirens in his head. In everyone's heads. He worried about her more than anyone else. These stupid stunts set off Grissom and left him endless nights of tossing and turning.

"I'll go pick her up."

Grissom stood up and felt his pockets for his keys.

"I'm not done yet…she isn't drunk. She's in the trunk and someone took her, Grissom!"

Grissom froze and processed the information. Yet, he couldn't. He just couldn't. The four of them stood in a stunned square, each imagining the morbid outcomes of the situation if things didn't turn out all right. Her phone call had been cut off nearly two minutes ago, yet it feels as if they lost her for nearly two days.

"Where was she last?"

A question was released from the lips of Ms. Willows as she pulled out her phone. She expertly flipped it open in a strictly professional manner, although her eyes were brimming with unshed tears and her foot started to grind nervously into the floor. Everyone knew that Catherine rarely lost her cool.

"In an alley off the Strip. I'll, um, I'll go trace her call."

An immediate answer and proposal was posed by Warrick and before he even got a response, he was out the door, heading for the lab. He turned around once, only to see Catherine give him a reassuring smile and he forced one in return. His steps down the hall were filled with purpose. _He would never let another C.S.I. down again in his life._

Gil ran his hand absentmindedly through his hair. He was in charge again, they looked up to him. They all did.

"Nick, go put an APB on Sara's car. And get Brass. He'll put everyone to work on this…this case. No one leaves until Sara is found. Understood?"

Nick stood up and nodded his head in consent while straightening his posture. His face remained impassive but he was struggling to keep his emotions under check.

"Catherine? You and I are going to call in Greg and Sophia. All hands on deck. Then we're going to inform Ecklie of this situation and handle it from there."

Catherine also nodded in understanding, then dialed in Greg's number. As Catherine was waiting for the goofball of a C.S.I. to wake up and pick up his phone, Gil's thoughts were ricocheting off the walls of his skull and pounding on his brain. He felt isolated and terrified for Sara; picturing her tied up and suffering was too much for him to handle. He felt a shiver go down his spine. He couldn't lose her, not like this. _Never like this._

Meanwhile, an unnerved C.S.I. awoke to her captors. She blinked blindly in the sun as the trunk opened slowly. The towering body that rose before her activated her woozy mindset. Terror gagged her thoughts as she frantically tried to break lose from her defenseless position. A solitary voice fled the mouth a man she never wanted to see since her childhood.

"Hey, doll. Did'ya miss me?"

* * *

A/N:  
a) Aloha, it's been weird. Until next time...perhaps Saturday, May 7th, or Sunday, May 8th.  
b) Ooooh yeah, re: Mock Trial, I wooed the jury with my witty charm.  
c) Reviewers:  
**Isa:** I'm glad you enjoy this story. Stay tuned for more.  
**silence89: **Cool.  
**forensicsgirl:** I'm thankful for your observations. Oh, and straight A's on exams!  
**Space-Case7029:** Thanks for noticing, you see, I was trying to establish the fact that Sara's DUI wasn't just between Grissom and herself. And her record. I mean, everyone knows about these things. It's just how those things go.  
**And Everyone Else:** Thanks for reviewing because it's a good thing to do. Yes, it is. Next time, offer some criticism because it helps me decide what to do next. I _do_ have a storyline up until the fourth chapter, but I need some guidance or reassurances to write to my full potential.  
d) _R.S.V.P.  
REVIEW S'IL VOUS PLAIT!_


	3. Go Ask Alice

A/N:  
a)I'm genuinely sorry for the late installment but life has been surprisingly hectic.  
b)Well, this chapter, in _my opinion_, is a lot more darker than the others. We delve into Sara's past, and Greg's as well.  
c)Those ruler/line break things usually piss me off because it makes a chapter seem interrupted. BUT I went ahead and put them in _anyways_ because I didn't know how else to differentiate Greg's POV and Sara's POV.

* * *

Alternate Angles Are  
Chapter 3: Go Ask Alice

It was their unresponsiveness that kept part of Greg troubled and unstable. It was their lifeless bodies, cold-to-the-touch expressions. Tonight, it was Lauren Stevens, the thirteen-year-old rape victim that made the night seem cruelly endless. It wasn't the first time he had to work on a case involving a violated child, in fact, this was his eighth case. The injustice of their deaths kept him awake at night, eating away at his charismatic personality and erasing his grinning façade. The difficulty was that Lauren looked exactly like his sister. The problem was, that this was exactly how his sister had died. Lauren's hair was a soft brown, just as his Lilly's was. Her eyes were black, ebony, shining with animation…before she died. Her eyes were now broken; they wouldn't move. She couldn't see. Lauren's been dead for eighteen hours. Lilly's been dead for eighteen years.

The hardest part was the guilt-trip he had to take because he wasn't there to protect her when she needed him most. He couldn't defend his Lilly Sanders. He couldn't save this Lauren Stevens. She lay deceased on a slab in the morgue. _She must be so cold._

It was teno'clock in the Las Vegas morning and Greg Sanders had the last thirteen hours off from work. He could have slept, like he had planned on doing so after five vigorous hours of working on such a dreadful case and nine hours before that processing a double homicide in a hotel room. Instead, he had driven to the Strip, meandered into a bar, and downed shots like there was no tomorrow. Now, he sat on the couch, nurturing a bottle of water as he stared into space. The last possibility of falling asleep had vanished when he skimmed over the case file for the thousandth time. Even her initials were identical to Lilly's. This was too much to handle. It was almost 10:30 AM, but he had sealed his shutters closed to avoid any sunlight during his supposed sleeping-time. Greg serenely walked to the window and flicked the shutters open. As the first ray of a Las Vegas morning tripped through his window, Greg Sanders solemnly swore to find justice for this Lauren Stevens.

The shrill chirping of his abandoned cell phone stole the silence away from his lonely thoughts. Greg blinked after the third ring, finally answering it as he threw the empty water bottle into the trash.

"Sanders." Greg whispered while smoothing his hair. He sauntered over to his coffee maker and prepared to make a steaming mug of Kona from Peet's. Desperate times called for the best coffee. His fingers roamed around the cupboard for the bag as he waited patiently for someone to reply.

"It's Catherine. I need you to come here ASAP. Within the hour, okay?"

He carefully measured a spoonful of the ground coffee beans and transferred into the filter. The slight hum of his neighbor's shower signaled the beginning of a new day in Sin City.

"What's going on?"

A slight pause of hesitation could be heard as Greg pushed the _on_ button of the coffee maker. He inhaled the fresh aroma of Kona.

"Greg, listen to me. Just get here. I'll fill you in later. It's just complicated. Alright?"

The first drop of brown liquid hit the pot and Greg nodded, even though Catherine couldn't see him, "Sure thing. I'll be there in twenty."

"Thanks."

* * *

A brawny but graying man orbited around Sara's trembling form. _What happened to his brunette hair? _He was roughly six feet tall, with sparkling gray eyes that could only be read as pure hatred. They were no longer in a discarded alley, but a sizeable storage room, containing nothing but a rusty bed arranged neatly facing the door in the back wall, with the headboard similar to those you find in ancient hospitals; a waiting-room clock, located directly above the bed, so if one were to lay on the bed, it would be the first thing to look at; and a metal table, not unlike the ones held in interrogating rooms at the Station. On the table, a leather briefcase sat on the corner, holding who-knows-what, along with a load of files that was neatly placed atop the briefcase. 

A row of perfectly straight and thoroughly whitened teeth greeted, "Jesus, Sara, it's been a while hasn't it?"

This business suited man who emitted an aura of unpleasantness said this as though she hadn't been kidnapped, stuffed in the trunk of her own government-issued vehicle, drugged and dragged into an isolated storage room, and welcomed by the last person she ever wanted to see free to roam around the streets. He was a dangerous man, and she couldn't do anything to put him behind bars.  
_  
_Sara struggled against the ropes that tied her down before spitting between gritted teeth, "Davidson, you goddamn son-of-a-bitch."

His smile made her nauseous and weak, but she kept a steadfast attitude, filled with pride and anger. Inside she was desperate for any kind of help, praying that this was just another nightmare…that she would wake up in a cold sweat. But of course, she didn't. Not this time. It was real this time.  
_  
A gangly fifteen-year-old ran up the steps of a Victorian house on the sloping streets of San Francisco. She pressed the doorbell only once, but her excitement for whoever was on the other side was visible to all, as she twiddled her green sweater and her squeaky shoes bounced up and down with the impatient rocking motion of a raring-to-go Sara Sidle.  
"Morning Mr. Davidson! Is Alice home?" greeted a keen Sara, pushing past the man and upstairs into her best friend's domain.  
"Hey, pumpkin!" the soothing voice of a father replied, "She's upstairs getting dressed, you want some breakfast?"_

_Sara's hand rested on the doorknob, revealing a matching shade of forest-green nail polish, as she hollered down towards the front door, "No thanks, but can me and Alice have a couple of granola bars to take on the way to the pier? We don't want to waste our money on expensive food. We have stuff to do…people to see!"  
_

_Mr. Davidson grinned as he shut the front door. He could never get over how enthusiastic Sara Sidle was about everything. Her grades and interest in learning sparked Alice's curiosity in school, thereby elevating Alice's grades and inquisitiveness in class. Although she seemed to give Alice the discipline she needed, Alice's carefree personality, her "I don't give a shit" face, balanced the slightly uptight Sara and gave her the fun she needed. He strode over to the kitchen and reached for the paper bags needed to pack the girls' lunches. He loved his girls. He really did. _

As Sara cracked open the door, she saw the second dead body of her life. Alice's body hanged limply from the wooden beam that stretched across the room. Already, her lower extremities had pooled with blood and her eyes were not closed, but looking up in the left corner, somewhere above Sara's head. Sara's lanky legs collapsed before her but her feather-light weight barely made a thud in the room. Shock befell her but a note was pinned on Alice's stretched out blouse. There was a hole in her shirt, as she kicked the chair from underneath her. Her long dark hair had been tied back with a pink pony-tail holder, and her chocolate eyes had lost all signs of life. Slowly, Sara crawled across the room and unpinned the note stuck on her dead best friend. Her shaky hands shook even more as her eyes stumbled upon Alice's familiar sloppy handwriting. A single tear coasted down her cheek as a green nail caressed the tearstained Dear Sara, she had written. She swallowed before continuing the note.

Dear Sara,  
I obviously won't be able to make it to the pier today. My dad did it. I didn't want to. I never wanted to. It was him in my bed, not Jeremy from fourth period or hot-dude on Varsity football. It wasn't the first time. I didn't want to. I was afraid. You have to leave. It was too late. I was afraid.

_Don't forget me.  
Alice _

As Sara held back tears of confusion and anger, the voice of the man downstairs bellowed, "Girls, you guys better hurry. I'm leaving for a lunch meeting in ten minutes. Gotta kick you guys out by then!"

Suddenly, the comprehension of the danger that man could cause hit her. She ran past the front door, calling behind her, "I left my wallet in my room, I'll be right back, I promise!"

Alice's note was crumpled tightly inside her fist, as her green nails dug into her skin.

"You promised you would be right back, Sara Sidle."

Frustrated tears blurred Sara's vision as the terrible memory tore open her mind. She was at a loss for words.

"You sick son-of-a-bitch." was all she could utter.

* * *

Greg hopped into the shower as his coffee was dripping hotly into the pot. As the hot water hit his skin, he could only wonder what the emergency could be this time. He had sobered up quite a while ago but his head was still throbbing with the effects that alcohol happened to do for a soul. The warmth of the shower calmed his tinkering brain down, and as he stepped out of the bathroom, he felt energized and ready for another shift. He had thirteen minutes left to get dressed, fill his thermos up with warm and dark liquid, and arrive at the Lab. 

But as Greg opened the door to his car, he froze. He couldn't help but wonder if Lauren Stevens was following him from heaven. He wondered if Lilly Sanders could see.

* * *

A/N:  
a)Reviewers:  
**Isawien Malfoy:** Well, it certainly wasn't her dead father. It wasn't a foster parent. Oh, things are starting to get strange. I'll give you a clue: everything's going to be connected, thanks to Mr. Davidson.  
**Space-Case7029:** Sophia's coming. Soon enough...  
**Jessica Summers:** Thanks for the criticism.So, I went _darker_, and I went into Sara's past, because we all just seem to eat up her past...don't we? Not exactly a cliffie, but keeps you wanting more, right? 

And thanks to all for the wonderful reviews.  
I love you. Really.  
b)Seriously, I update sporadically. Final Exams heading my way, but now that swim season is _officially _over and a new fic for Veronica MarsI started is going nowhere, I will try my very hardest to update next weekend.  
c)Oooooh...who's excited for _Thursday_?


End file.
